


eighteenth floor balcony

by harinezumi_kun



Category: Arashi (Band)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-08
Updated: 2010-09-08
Packaged: 2017-11-05 17:32:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/409136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harinezumi_kun/pseuds/harinezumi_kun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>here they are, eighteen stories away from the rest of the world, and if ohno doesn’t say something now, he knows he never will, and nothing will ever change.</p>
            </blockquote>





	eighteenth floor balcony

**Author's Note:**

> for nicefinalbeam's new quest, [the melody lingers on](http://nicefinalbeam.livejournal.com/450371.html), and inspired by Blue October's [eighteenth floor balcony](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FOjy22WlWbI). a sappy get-together fic, are we surprised?? :| :| :|

There’s nothing special about that night, nothing unusual or different or out of the ordinary. Ohno gets home late, as usual; leaves his things in an untidy pile by the door, as usual; slouches over to the couch, as usual, and debates over getting up and going to his bedroom or just falling asleep right here. It’s not special until Ohno decides to make it special.

What happens first: Nino shows up at Ohno’s apartment in the middle of the night (not special, definitely not the first time). After a brief greeting, Nino lets himself in, toes off his shoes, and wanders over to the sliding glass door across the room. He isn’t the kind of person who will just start talking, and Ohno isn’t the kind of person to ask, so the reason Nino is there never comes to light. He’s just there, and it is not special.

When Ohno moves to join Nino by the window, Nino reaches out and takes Ohno’s hand (special, but not unusual, or different). Their fingers twine together immediately, instinctively, and Ohno is so busy admiring the way they fit, his dark skin against Nino’s fair, that he doesn’t realize Nino is sliding open the blinds—not until a faraway light catches his attention, blinking on and off slowly at the corner of his vision. Still, he doesn’t look away, because they are standing so close that the little puffs of air through Ohno’s parted lips are ruffling Nino’s hair, just below his ear. This close, but never closer. A moment later, Nino slides open the door as well, and they step out into the night air, still hand in hand.

Eighteen stories up, the city seems strangely distant, and Ohno has always thought it’s like looking at something under water. The lights flicker and flow in a kind of liquid way, and the sounds are far and muffled. The pink-purple glow in the sky closes everything in, the wind blows by like the tide, and here and now feels like a moment outside of time, just the two of them, frozen above a darkling Atlantis. 

But even this can’t distract Ohno for long, and soon he’s back to staring at Nino again. The younger man has his free hand jammed into the pocket of his ratty cardigan, his hair is messy and uncombed and there are deep circles under his eyes (this, sadly, is not unusual either). After a time, Nino notices Ohno staring and—though it’s hard to tell for sure in the dark—Ohno thinks he sees a blush stain Nino’s face before the younger man is carefully untangling their fingers and sliding his other hand into his pocket as well. 

On a usual night, this is what happens next: eventually, Ohno will mention something about getting some sleep. Sometimes, Nino will just nod and go curl up on the couch with the TV on. Sometimes, almost timidly, he will follow Ohno into the bedroom and curl up there. Usually, they will barely say a word to each other until the next day, and that’s okay because they can understand each other without words.

Or maybe that’s not quite right, Ohno thinks, crossing his arms for lack of something better to do with them. Maybe it’s that they both have something to say that they are afraid of. Or, they’re both afraid of being the first to speak, because in this one thing, their unspoken understanding isn’t enough. It’s not enough just to think he knows the reason Nino keeps coming here, the reason Nino is always touching him, the reason Nino’s eyes flash jealously whenever Ohno pays too much attention to someone else. Because the moment one of them says it aloud, they lose the safety of being able to pretend they never thought of each other as anything more than friends.

Suddenly, for no special reason, Ohno is tired of playing it safe. He is tired of this invisible line they have drawn between one another.

“Nino,” he begins, and his voice is gravelly from disuse. 

The other man turns to him with a look of surprise. Ohno opens his mouth, meaning to change things, meaning to do something different. 

In the end, he can’t. In the end, he mumbles out something inane, asking after Nino’s mother. Nino still looks surprised, but answers anyway, and so they talk about that for awhile—about their families, their mothers, who are apparently meeting for lunch next Tuesday, a random detail Ohno remembers from his last phone conversation with his own mother. Somehow, this leads into talking about their childhoods which they’ve never really talked about before, not together outside of an interview, anyway. 

It’s strange, because Nino never really talks about his personal life—his past—but for some reason, tonight, once he begins it’s almost as if he can’t stop. Oddly, Ohno gets the feeling that Nino is drawing this out on purpose, that he sensed what Ohno was about to do and is trying to put it off as long as possible. 

Really, this should discourage Ohno, but somehow only serves to rekindle his determination. When they finally come to a pause, Ohno takes a deep breath and tries again.

“Nino,” he says again. Nino turns to him, looking a little wary. Ohno swallows—knowing something will be hard, and actually doing it anyway prove to be two very different things.

“We,” Ohno begins shakily, “we should talk about some things.”

“We _are_ talking about some things,” Nino says, with just a hint of stubbornness. 

Ohno finds a little smile pulling at the corner of his mouth, but tries to focus. “No, I mean—you know what I mean, don’t you?”

Nino just shrugs, hunching a little more and staring determinedly straight ahead. Ohno sighs through his nose, turning to face Nino’s profile. Here they are, eighteen stories away from the rest of the world, and if Ohno doesn’t say something now, he knows he never will, and nothing will ever change.

“I like you,” he says simply, and this makes Nino stiffen, and turn his head with a jerk. 

“I have for a long time,” Ohno continues. Nino just stares at him, and he feels his confidence ebbing with each word. “I think you like me, too, but you—it’s like you think there’s a line between us that you can’t cross. But you can—I mean, there isn’t. A line.” Ohno stumbles, stutters. It’s so hard, with words. He raises a hand, as if to cup Nino’s face, but he lets it hover, without touching, before dropping it again. He grips the balcony railing with his other hand, turning his face back out to the city lights. “So, if you want, it’s okay. Without one.”

There is a long pause, filled with faraway city sounds—a siren somewhere, the pulsing bass of a car stereo. A stiff breeze. When Ohno turns to look back at Nino, there is only a brief moment, one intense shared gaze, before Nino is kissing him. Kissing him like he’s been waiting to, wanting to, like there is no other way for him to answer Ohno’s statement. 

Before it can turn into anything more than this, Nino is reaching up to clench his hands in Ohno’s shirt, but it is not a pulling closer, it is a pulling away, like if he keeps going he won’t be able to stop. Their lips part with the faintest little sticking sound, and Nino drops his head to Ohno’s chest atop his hands. Distantly, Ohno thinks, _don’t forget to breathe._

“I’m not very good at talking about…stuff like this,” Nino says, in a stuttering start-stop cadence. “Or asking, if I—so, anyway, thank you. Thanks.”

Somehow “you’re welcome” doesn’t seem like the appropriate response, and Ohno is so busy trying to think of what to say that he doesn’t say anything at all.

“Can I stay?” Nino asks instead.

“Yeah,” Ohno says immediately, bringing his hands up to grip Nino’s arms. “Yes—of course. Please.” For Ohno, it was never a question.

Nino raises his head then, with a hesitant smile. His fingers clench, then relax, ever so slightly, against Ohno’s chest, and Ohno gets the feeling that Nino is waiting for something. Then he realizes: Nino kissed _him_. And despite everything Ohno said, Nino still needs proof.

Ohno returns Nino’s smile, then leans in for a long, slow, careful kiss.

Sometime later, after Ohno has mentioned that they really should get some sleep, they are still out on the balcony. Nino dragged the comforter from the bedroom and cocooned it around them, with Ohno’s back against the sliding door and Nino curled around him, head pillowed on Ohno’s stomach. In the grey-blue dimness, Ohno can just see the shimmer of Nino’s eyes, staring up at him.

“Sleep,” he commands the younger man, though there is very little force in his tone. With his free hand, he pushes Nino’s hair away from his face. His other hand is tangled firmly with Nino’s and tucked up under Nino’s chin.

“Don’t wanna,” Nino murmurs back, tilting his head to kiss each of Ohno’s knuckles, one at a time. “Maybe you’ll be gone when I wake up.”

“I’ll stay with you,” Ohno tells him, but his eyelids are drooping, and his voice is already fading away to whispers. “I’ll keep you. In my dreams,” and this last comes out as a low sigh.

He thinks he hears Nino say “okay”, but he can’t be sure because he’s already drifting, floating up on the rushing breeze that sounds like waves, and they are flying out over the underwater city hand in hand.

When he wakes up the next day, he will be stiff and cold, but Nino will still be there.

(And that is so, so special.)


End file.
